


In His Hands

by bactaqueen



Category: AFI
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Massage, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his hands, all that he would ask for. </p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental.
> 
> Author's Note: Originally posted November 2006.

Hunter lay propped against the headboard, cushioned by pillows, his legs spread. He rested his hands on his stomach, trying to center himself. He was naked and not alone, and, though he didn’t want to admit it, he was nervous.   
  
Davey sat tailor-style on the bed between Hunter’s legs. He rested his hands on Hunter’s shins and his dark eyes roamed. He moved his hands slowly, as if to memorize the warmth of Hunter’s skin and the soft brush of fine hair against his palms. The undemanding touch made Hunter sigh quietly and raise his eyes. Davey gave him a slow smile; there was no rush in him, none of that frantic electric energy so present onstage and in public. He was in no hurry to be done and be gone.   
  
Davey danced his fingertips down Hunter’s calves and tipped his head. “Are you ready?” Even his voice was unhurried.   
  
Hunter nodded. He didn’t really trust himself to speak, thought that it might break the spell he was under.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Davey reassured in a murmur. And then the air in the room shifted, and it was time to begin.   
  
Davey cupped his hands around Hunter’s left foot. His thumbs moved over the top, then shifted to the bottom as he lifted it. He wrapped his hands around it and pushed back just enough to stretch his calf. Hunter relaxed. Davey took a moment to just hold his foot; his hands were warm, the long fingers calloused in places and soft in others, strong. The care he took with something so often overlooked made Hunter drop his head back. Very slowly, Davey began to massage. His thumbs worked the ball of his foot as his fingers worked the top. He pressed hard lines down the arch, smoothing the tension and threat of cramps out, then focused on his heel. He rubbed his ankle, playing skin over bone, then moved up his leg.  
  
He used long, gliding strokes from ankle to knee at first. Davey laid the flat of Hunter’s foot against his chest, and Hunter had a vivid memory of doing the same to an ex-girlfriend; he flinched, pushed it away. He didn’t need to think about that. And Davey was running his whole hands up and then back down his lower leg with gentle firm touches that turned the muscle to liquid. Hunter felt himself slipping again, his eyes closed and breathing finding a deep, regular rhythm. His hands stayed folded on his stomach and when Davey’s fingers found the back of his knee, his cock twitched.   
  
Davey used more whole-hand strokes up his thigh. He curled his fingers into fists and ran them back and forth, then opened his hands and dug his fingertips in. He worked from the center outward to knead away the tension. Hunter sank against the bed with each touch, further away from reality and his demons, deeper into the strange intimate reality.   
  
Finished with one leg, Davey lowered that foot and moved to the other. He repeated every careful move he’d made on Hunter’s left leg to his right, starting with his toes and moving to the top of his thigh. Hunter felt warm, drowsy, so loose and comfortable that he couldn’t remember ever feeling remotely like it before. The tension had dissolved, left him pleasantly empty for the first time in too long. He sighed softly, a pleased sound.   
  
Davey’s hands cupped his hips and his thumbs trailed up and down the bones. He paused.   
  
Hunter’s eyes fluttered open and he raised his head to find Davey looking at him. He was aware of the hands on his hips, just holding, not pushing. Hunter never wanted to leave this moment, this place, Davey’s presence. Now he understood what made Davey a great friend.   
  
“It... feels good,” Hunter said, and his voice was rough from the tired pleased feeling, from lack of use and from finally feeling good about something.   
  
Davey’s smile was small, but still held enough voltage to light the room. “Good.” He pressed his fingers into Hunter’s skin.   
  
Gently, he massaged his hips, pushing the tightness up and smoothing it out. Then his hands moved up and he slid his open palms up and down his sides. Davey paused to hold Hunter’s waist, then pressed his thumbs and fingers into his skin; when he moved his hands up, his fingers rode the dips and rises of Hunter’s ribs, stopping only when his thumbs were brushing the edges of his pecs. He kneaded high on Hunter’s sides as he stared down into Hunter’s eyes, then, slowly, he edged his hands up. He laid them over the hard muscles of Hunter’s chest and devoted a few moments to just resting there. Then he began to knead carefully. Hunter’s eyes drifted shut and his head fell back; the length of his throat was exposed to Davey.   
  
Davey hesitated, considering, then leaned down. Hunter felt the spill of hair against his shoulder. The warm scents of cinnamon and lavender-vanilla swirled around him just before Davey’s lips touched his throat.   
  
Hunter choked out a sigh.   
  
Davey nuzzled his neck. “Told you this would relax you,” he breathed. He placed a gentle sucking kiss on his throat, then lifted.   
  
Both hands went to one shoulder. He cupped the side of Hunter’s neck and glided his palm to the edge of his shoulder, only to chase the other open palm after it. Then he wrapped both hands around Hunter’s upper arm. Long, gliding strokes push the tautness of the muscle from his biceps to his triceps to his elbow. Davey spent a few moments kneading the tight muscles of his arm before he continued to his forearm. Davey shifted his weight and balanced on his knees, careful to hold his body over Hunter’s, and lifted Hunter’s arm. It seemed like he pulled the tension from him, drawing it from his elbow all the way to his fingertips and out of his body. He used his thumbs on his palm and his fingers on the back of his hand in much the same way as he’d rubbed his feet. The difference here was in the flourish: when he was finished, Davey drew Hunter’s hand to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. He laid the hand on Hunter’s belly with great care before he moved his hands to the other shoulder and repeated, in detail, the process on that arm. He was so careful, so thorough, and the attention to something so simple reminded Hunter just why he’d accepted this.   
  
Hunter was acutely aware of Davey’s deep, even breathing, and of the fact that it kept his own breathing steady. He was aware of his body, so solid and strong, and of the inexplicable way it was more comfort than he’d expected.  
  
Davey kissed his fingertips again, then laid that hand over the one already on Hunter’s stomach. He rested his hands atop them and didn’t move for long moments.   
  
When Hunter opened his eyes, he found Davey watching him. At first he wanted to be uncomfortable; scrutiny was always disconcerting for him, and it was odd to have one of his best friends studying him so closely. But as seconds passed, the discomfort eased to pleasantness, and the silence around and between them was comfortable.   
  
A smile curved Davey’s lips. His fingers inched down, then smoothed up and down Hunter’s thighs. “Are you ready?”  
  
“Yes,” he said breathlessly.   
  
Davey’s fingers skated to the insides of Hunter’s thighs. Hunter closed his eyes and dropped his head back. He wanted to stop thinking. All he wanted was to feel. Davey’s fingers teased lines from Hunter’s knees to the creases where his legs met his body, and then Davey brushed a fingertip along the contour of his ballsac.   
  
Hunter sighed.   
  
Hands left his body and he heard the snap of the bottle cap just before he smelled fresh cinnamon. He opened his eyes again and lifted his head to watch Davey pour the oil into his cupped palm. Davey met his eyes and closed the bottle, then began to rub his hands together. He spread the oil over his palms and fingers, making a show of warming it and giving Hunter time to prepare himself for what was next.   
  
Davey set the bottle aside and leaned forward. He laid a hand on Hunter, palm nestled in one hip and fingertips grazing the edge of the other. He let his hand rest there for a moment as his eyes met Hunter’s. Very slowly, Davey increased the pressure on the skin just above Hunter’s hard cock, then pressed his hand up so the skin was pulled back. He repeated this carefully a few times, this intense slow rubbing, and he watched Hunter’s face for every hint of what the pleasure was doing to him.   
  
“Close your eyes if you need to,” Davey said in a low voice.   
  
Hunter shook his head slowly. He paid attention to the hand cupping his balls, very gently massaging them. Davey’s hand shifted down and he slid a finger down and then back up the velvet skin of his perineum, gently pressing, lightly scratching, sliding it all the way up beneath his balls. He pinched there, finger and thumb, and the pressure was similar to that of a cock ring. Davey pressed his thumb against the underside of Hunter’s ballsac, pressed up like a makeshift cockring so his balls touched the shaft of his cock. The whole time, Hunter kept his eyes on Davey. His breath caught and he narrowed his focus to just that pressure.   
  
Davey leaned in. His hair fell around his face and brushed Hunter’s, and Davey licked down Hunter’s throat to press a kiss to the hollow between his collarbones. Hunter knew his pulse was jumping and he knew Davey could feel it. Davey’s body hovered and drew absolutely still, and Hunter swallowed hard when he realized that Davey was waiting for a sign from him.   
  
Hunter turned his face and let his lips and the rough scratch of his stubble drag over Davey’s skin. “Please.”  
  
Davey accepted the plea with a kiss to Hunter’s breastbone. He balanced on his knees and as his grip tightened on Hunter’s cock, his free hand began rubbing small tight circles on Hunter’s stomach and side.   
  
Hunter’s breath caught and his eyes fluttered.   
  
Davey licked, no longer holding back. “Breathe,” he murmured. In, out. In, out. His breath was even, steady; it helped Hunter to ground himself, helped him remember to breathe. He brought his hands up and gripped Davey’s shoulders to remind himself that, yes, this was real.   
  
Davey’s grip was sure and strong. Unhurried and unhesitating, he stroked the full length of Hunter’s cock. It was slow and thorough and Hunter lost himself in the rhythm. His fingers curled into Davey’s shoulders and his eyes fell shut. Every muscle in his body was taut with anticipation, but he wanted to sink back against the sheets and let the pleasure take its course. His hips lifted, a silent plea for more.   
  
Davey shifted his weight and ran his mouth down Hunter’s neck. He made a fist and slowly lowered it, forcing Hunter’s cock into his palm. Double-fisted, he stroked, and to Hunter it felt like continuous penetration, like he was pushing deeper and deeper and there was no end. The cinnamon burned just enough to make it good and Davey was so warm and hard and close. Hunter lifted his head and pressed his face to Davey’s neck, sliding his arms around Davey’s back. His breath was coming in pants now and his hips drew back; he needed more.   
  
Davey’s mouth was hot against his ear and he was panting now, too. He moved one hand, fisted it in the covers at Hunter’s hip, and began jerking, harder now, faster, rougher. Hunter’s eyes squeezed shut and he cried out against Davey’s skin before biting his lip. It was all he could feel, the fist around his cock and the burning friction. Cinnamon and Davey’s skin were all he could taste. Hunter was losing himself, losing all the frustration of the past weeks. It rushed through him, gathered in his asshole and at the base of his cock, roiled in his balls and threatened... threatened...   
  
When he came, he screamed. He released everything, let it fly out of him and echo off the walls and stain Davey’s black pants.   
  
He smelled blood when he came back to himself. He smelled blood and cinnamon and skin and sweat and spunk. The pillows cradled him and so did Davey, wrapped around him and draped over him. Davey’s fist was still pumping his cock, slowly, bringing him down. The barest brush of soft fingertips against his balls made him shudder and ache. His arms trembled. It took him a long time to realize that the harsh flow of breaths was his own.   
  
He wanted a kiss. It was absurd, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. He wanted the pressure of Davey’s lips on his own and... Hunter choked. Useless. He was right back where he’d started. He started to disentangle himself. He didn’t know how to thank Davey, didn’t know what to say.   
  
Maybe it was all wrong.   
  
Long fingers cupped his face. Thumbs tucked under his chin. Hunter raised his eyes and there were Davey’s, infinitely dark. His breath caught, again, and then Davey’s lips lay sweetly against his own.   
  
Hunter placed his hands at the small of Davey’s back and took the kiss. His tongue felt too large for his mouth, and then too like an unwelcome guest in Davey’s, rough and bitter where the insides of Davey’s lips were soft and sweet. But then Davey’s tongue stroked over his and Hunter relaxed, and the kiss was easier, gentle give and take that he hadn’t experienced in so long he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d kissed so well.  
  
The necessity of breath finally forced them to break, but Davey didn’t go far. He rested his forehead against Hunter’s and stroked the sides of his face. Hunter felt the brush of Davey’s eyelashes against his eyelids and he smiled.   
  
“Thank you,” he said in a rough voice.   
  
Davey’s lips curved. He said nothing, only lay against Hunter and waited for the world to settle around them.  


End file.
